One Year

Ivy Alvarez

Most girls avoid Bill. They are wary.
You would. Not Ann. She could parry
countless strikes. Not his. I starch
a sleeve, iron a blue collar, a frill
lapel. Leave me, Bill. This is my day.
Even God rested, at least till noon.
No more, she said. It's just a new lie
demanding my attention, but I adjust
exceptionally. I used to be limber,
lover. I'm an old ship, docked over.
Leave me, Bill, your new home number.
Even ink fades and I won't remember.

From What's Wrong (Wales: The Private Press, 2004)